Truth

byApathalene©

"We're going to play tonight, we're going to pretend, okay?" he whispered, though in truth it wasn't really a question.

She was blindfolded, her favorite game, and he'd taken the gossamer red scarf she wore in her hair and wrapped it loosely across her mouth as a makeshift gag. Even her arms were bound, tied at the wrist to the headboard with her studded leather belt. Her taut body squirmed back and forth on the virgin-white sheets, her back arched and toes curled, feverishly anticipating his touch.

He teased her by walking back and forth around the bed, the creaking of the polished oak floorboards giving hint to his presence. Occasionally he'd reach out and press down on the mattress just enough to give her the impression he was next to her. She'd buck her hips at the movement, writhing as he pulled back and circled around to the other side. The tension had made her nipples hard as cherry stones, and he badly wanted to roll them between his thumb and finger to see how loud he could make her moan.

The room was dark with only the light of the moon's slivered rind leaking in through the parted blinds to illuminate her form. It made her glow like something perfect and unearthly, an angel without wings.

"Are you ready for me," he whispered after what must have seemed an eternity. She'd worked herself to a frenzy in anticipation, sweat beaded into droplets on her brow. He was as excited as she was and his cock stood out stiff in front of him, hammer hard, flesh made steel.

He cupped the side of her face with one deft artist's hand and traced a circle around her lips with his thumb. She turned towards his touch, nuzzling his palm like a leashed pet would her master. The teasing made her tremble and it was clear from the way that she strained against her bonds that his hands on her face wasn't enough; she wanted them on her breasts, her hips, her slick cunt.

As always he obliged her wishes, sliding his fingers down past the slope of her chin to her throat. He could feel her pulse thumping beneath her skin as he slipped past the thick artery in her neck down to her breasts. They were perfect, just like everything about her. She shuddered as he tweaked first her left nipple, then the right. They seemed to get even harder as he squeezed firmly enough to make her squirm but not enough to hurt. After all these years he knew exactly how to toy with her, and the damp, earthy smell of sex wafting up from between her legs confirmed he was pushing all the right buttons.

"I never get tired of you, of us, of this," he whispered. He had slid his hand down from her breasts to the flat plane of her stomach. Lingering at her navel he danced his fingertips in slow circles around the sensitive flesh of her belly button. She wanted him to move lower, to touch her where she was wet and slick, but he made himself wait, building the anticipation until she couldn't take it anymore.

His fingertips finally brushed past the artfully shorn strip of hair above her sex she gasped and thrust her hips up at him, trying to force his fingers lower. When he finally made contact with the erect bud of her clit she shuddered as if in climax, her entire body convulsing and shaking.

"You never get tired of this either," he whispered, a smile creasing his handsome face. He leaned downward until his mouth were bare inches from his skin and exhaled, his breath making a promise to her slick cleft. She moaned into the gag and thrust upwards to seek out his lips. Unable to stop himself any longer he relented and gave a long, deliberate lick across her slit, tasting her anticipation. It was almost too much for his senses to take, and his stiff cock throbbed, a pearl of pre-cum beaded at the tip.

Climbing between her legs he grasped her ankles and raised them up, spreading her open before him. He nudged his cock forward and ground it up and down her slippery mound using just his hips, teasing her with the threat of penetration. Every time his cockhead snagged against her pink slit he stopped and eased backwards, denying them both what they wanted most.

Her hands were balled into tiny fists as she strained against the belt, trying to push him inside her. He was too quick, and he shifted backwards, taunting her, denying her the penetration she craved. She gnashed her teeth against the makeshift gag and grunted wordlessly against the diaphanous red material.

Just as she seemed to give up he rewarded her, spearing forward into her tight pussy until his balls slapped against her ass cheeks. She arched her back and thrashed about, lunging against him, grinding onto his body to take him as deep as possible.

The time for teasing was over; he withdrew with a shift of his hips and thrust inward again, over and over. Despite being unable to see him or speak a word she instinctively fell into a rhythm, a matched cog grind of bodies that had meshed together hundreds of time before. The bed creaked and groaned beneath them as it always did, the protests of the springs as much a part of the sounds of their lovemaking as pants and gasps and cries of passion.

As always she came first, wrapping her long legs around his body and locking him inside her, and as always that pushed him to the limit. He let out a guttural roar and with a final powerful thrust exploded deep into her womb. Somewhere far in the back of his head he wondered if this would be the time she'd catch pregnant, and as his orgasm obliterated his consciousness he pictured her flat stomach grown round with his child, heavy and swollen.

Some minutes later he rose, his knees week and mind reeling. His head swam, floating on a sea of endorphins that drowned his senses in bliss. She too was consumed by the afterglow of her orgasm, her chest rising and falling as she lay still on the bed, drained and spent.

It was a perfect image and a perfect moment and it made his heart ache to know how lucky he was. Most men went their entire lives without knowing the joy she made him feel, and he was fortunate enough to feel like this every day.

Shaking his head and smiling he strode lightly across the rug to the adjoining bathroom. He turned on the tap he waited for the water to grow warm before cupping his hands beneath the flow and bringing it to his face, washing off his perspiration and the scent of her sex as his breathing returned to normal and the pleasant afterglow of their coupling melted away.

This was always the hardest part, when he had to look into the mirror afterwards. The mirror told the truth, cold and hard, and he always dreaded facing it. He waited as long as he could, ponderous minutes that ticked on long enough that the water on his face and hands dried in the cool night air. So long his feet began to ache and his back stiffen. So long time seemed to stop.

When he finally opened his eyes he didn't recognize the man looking back at him in the polished glass. The face he saw was pock-marked and ugly. He brought his hand up to run it through his thick hair that wasn't there and the reflection in the mirror made the same gesture, running his hands across his scabbed, bare scalp as if to mock him.

The room behind him in the mirror was strewn with litter, and something with beady red eyes chittered at him from beneath the bed. That wasn't the worst of it, though. The worst was that she was no longer perfect, no longer his wingless angel. She was desiccated and crumbling, a husk resting on moldering sheets. Her hands were still bound above her head with rope long since gone to rot, and the duct-tape and rags that gagged her had decomposed along with her lower jaw.

When he turned away from the mirror to look back into the bedroom it was all still there, the death and decay and putrescence and filth. A beetle scurried across what was once her cheek and disappeared into the ruin of her eye socket.

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists so hard his nails tore into the flesh on his palms, so hard blood oozed out from between his fingers. After what seemed forever he opened his eyes and looked down her motionless form and forced his mind to see things how he wished they would be and not how they were.

"We're going to play tonight, we're going to pretend, okay?" he whispered, though in truth it wasn't really a question.

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byApathalene© 5 comments/ 5645 views/ 1 favorites

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